


Patterns

by marchingjaybird



Category: Watchmen
Genre: Angst, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things stay the same, even when they change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns

It's the sound he can't tolerate, flesh-slapping sweat slick filthy noise that it is, so he moves with care, in and out slowly. His fingers, rudely stripped of their comfortable soft leather skin, grasp hips gone soft with idleness. Daniel's flesh is pliable, cushioned by layers of fat which, on anyone else, would be cause for disgust, but which is only natural on Daniel. Even when he was young, hard muscle and glittering eyes, he was soft. Rorschach never touched that other Daniel, can't even imagine it. That man seems like a stranger now.

It's better that way.

Daniel talks to the pillow, murmuring empty endearments to a man he's never seen. In a strange way, it reassures; that the mask or the dark is constantly between them ensures that Daniel is kept separate from Walter, though why that is so deeply important is something that he prefers not to consider. Ostensibly, there is the problem of protecting his identity, but when Daniel focuses on him, when his dark eyes trace the intricacies of the patterns that flicker across the mask, he knows that there is more to it than that.

*

A stranger's face stares at him.

Ugly. Human. Vulnerable. He raps his knuckles against the mirror and his expression remains the same. He is accustomed to the mask reflecting his emotions, responding to the microscopic flexing of his facial muscles, the varying blood flow just beneath his skin. Smiling, frowning, screaming, it has all been rendered pointlessly complex. If he leaves the mask off for too long the expressions slowly return, but now, with it pushed up over his forehead, his face is frozen.

He reaches down, touches with hesitant fingertips the wetness on his belly. The mirror is too high to show it, and for that he is grateful. There's too much filth and shame in the world; he doesn't need to look at his own.

He raps again and the corner of his mouth twitches. If he stays much longer, he won't be able to stop himself. His knuckles are already criss-crossed with thin white scars, souvenirs of past exercises in mirror-gazing. A tremor runs through his body and is echoed by a knocking at the door.

He stares a moment longer, then yanks down the mask and turns off the light.

"Coming, Daniel…"

*

Daniel bites the pillow when he comes, keens high in his throat. His fingers, which were wrapped around his own prick, release it and flutter back to grip Rorschach's thighs. They are wet and warm and greedy, and he turns his head to plead breathlessly, straining to see over his shoulder. It's always the way. Rorschach hesitates.

He pulls out, flips Daniel onto his back. There is a moment of stunned silence between them, and then he's back inside, pushing deeper than he ever has before, frantically faster until his hands are shaking where they're braced on either side of Daniel's head. The sound of fucking fills his ears, slick flesh and quick breath and soft little cries, and he feels dirty, like a traitor to some undefined cause. He has fallen and been sucked into the mire of filth and degradation with the rest of them, and the realization is not enough to stop him.

Frantic fingers find the edge of the mask, hook and pull, and suddenly cool air strikes his cheeks, whistles into his lungs, and he cries out hoarsely. It is dark, but not so dark that Daniel cannot make out the lines of his face, and he starts to recoil. Not quickly enough; Daniel's fingers grip his hair hard, pull him down into a bruising kiss. The shock of it sends him over the edge. He comes with a snarl, hips grinding convulsively against Daniel's ass as he pours out his shame.

It's the first time he's ever come inside Daniel. Before, he always refrained or pulled out. Daniel stares up at him and his face is warm with pleasure and awe.

"Rorschach," he murmurs, trailing his fingers across an exposed cheek. Rorschach snatches up the mask and retreats to the safety of the bathroom.

*

He sits at the foot of the bed, fully clothed, and watches Daniel sleep. Patterns bloom across the mask, whirling and flickering with feverish intensity. He imagines that he can feel them as they shift, dark shadows caressing his face, wiping away all of the damage that he has done. It is the first step in distancing himself from what happened tonight, in making things right again.

He leans forward, presses the tips of his gloved fingers to Daniel's ankle. He stirs slightly, murmuring as he slowly drags himself into wakefulness. By the time he manages to sit up and rub his eyes open, Rorschach is gone, and only the smell of sweat and sex that lingers in the room shows that he was ever there at all.


End file.
